My Darling Hermione
by JustAsSane
Summary: A short Dramione one-shot inspired by Shane Koyczan.What happens when a familiar stranger sits next to Draco Malfoy in a bar, "...she's been on top so much she's starting to resemble the roof. He tells her this and she says, 'Should I be insulted' He flashes a grin and replies, 'You're a real sexy roof.' She smiles, clearly pleased."


**A/N: This was inspired by the heartbreakingly sad poem by Shane Koyczan. Look it up!**

**Disclaimer: THE CHARACTERS AREN'T MINE (No matter how much I want them to be)!**

DM*HG

He knew she saw him regularly here at this pub, sitting alone almost every night.

But he notices she sits alone too.

He wears long sleeves and sometimes jackets if the shirt is white, attempting to hide _it_ from the view of others. Of course the others were Muggles. She was the only one to know what really hid behind there: A mark, forever tattooed on his skin.

He had observed her, and now knew that she hid hers beneath the folds of frilly tops with longer sleeves.

He sat there wallowing in self-pity. Perhaps it was not the best thing to do, but it was all he could with the energy he could muster. He had lost all his colleagues, he had no friends, and the world - it seemed - hated him. He was stuck with the mark on his arm, it wouldn't come off; no amount of Muggle technology or spells and potions could make it leave.

He asked himself out to the bar, for a drink or two… or ten. He double fisted it, one glass in each hand most times, the more poisonous of the two always in _that_ hand. He had downed one, then the other moments later, when she next to him.

It was _her_, and even though he had shared most of his adolescent years in her presence, she had never before sat next to _him_.

She said she would like to start over, that her name was Hermione and she was pleased to meet him, "May I refill your glass?"

It didn't take more than an affirmative nod of his head, and a few more outings to begin a relationship.

DM*HG

_Hermione_.

The sound of her name brings shivers to his spine, a smile to his lips and a twinkle to his eyes.

She worked for the rights of Magical creatures, dedicating her life to those who were treated unfairly by the old laws. She was part of a reform project: Out with the old, in with the new.

She knows the importance of friends, and begs him to make some, "You're getting too clingy," she jokes. She knows the importance of having someone to lean on, and will be that person for him.

He tells her she uses the words _love _and _family _to freely, she tells him that he needs to loosen up. She says he skirts around the words, telling people like her that he, "cares a whole awful lot." She says he needs to try to use the words, if only in her name.

So he will.

He uses the words to tell her how he feels, "I love you and you are my family." She smiles in return and thanks him for saying so, tells him that with more effort it won't sound as forced. He smiles shyly, embarrassed about his failed attempt.

"Effort is the Siamese twin of success."

The words ring true in his head. She tells him that even though he can't say it to her without some stress she'll take the effort that's put into it.

DM*HG

They lie in bed in a heap of clothes, sheets and skin, looking like a mess meant to have been cleaned a long while ago. It's where they have their 'serious' talks.

It's where he promises her, "I'll never make you cry."

She replies, "It's supposed to hurt a bit, and if by the end I haven't cried even a little, then you didn't try."

So he doubles his efforts and does his best to show his affection for her with little stress. He brings her the lilies she so enjoys, the chocolates that make her smile, and even shows little public displays of affections: Hugs when she leaves, kisses on the cheek, and Eskimo kisses in the street.

Their pasts are barred to the world, their hurt sewn onto their sleeves, the present pinned their chests in purple hearts and their future hanging by threads above their heads.

It's where, in a more recent conversation she tells him that her scar is more than just a scar, it's dark magic coursing through her body. She's susceptible to seizures, and it would only get worse, before long she would die from it, the seizures too strong to stop.

"It's just another way to tell the time." she cries.

And she's ticking.

He realizes now that in order to make his efforts end with the best results, he needs to plug himself into the equation of success in order to reap the rewards.

DM*HG

_His darling Hermione._

Her voice rang out above the rest, in a crowded room he can tell where she is and which unnamed mass of hair she is just by the sound of her voice.

They're around each other so much that his clothes start to give off the aroma of her. He walks around with the scent of green apples following him around. Everyone one of her friends look at him with a wary eye; they know where he's been sleeping.

He's keeping her so close that his body could be used to testify: _Yes, she was with me that night. _

They hug in their shared bed, lying on top of each other; in fact she's been on top so much she's starting to resemble the roof. He tells her this and she says, "Should I be insulted?" He flashes a grin and replies, "You're a real sexy roof." She smiles, clearly pleased.

The roof doesn't leak, except for when she cries; she does that often. She worries that he's going to leave her for one of the many girls who shamelessly throw themselves at him.

She worries they'll run out of time…

But he tells her:

"My darling Hermione, I've learned that having to many open doors will make a man confused, make him doubt himself in things he's sure are right. I will make no exodus; I will stay for as long as you want, until the doubt leaves your mind. You've never had to sell me on the idea of spending my life with you."

DM*HG

The first and only time she met his mother, she said to him in a rare moment where her sentences were coherent, "I like the way she looks at you." His love was gone, to get a coffee or some tea, he was disappointed she didn't hear it, but he replied, "I like it too."

She came back just after that, a smile on her face, chocolate eyes gleaming with happiness, she looked straight at his mother and spoke as if she were normal, and when they left he tells her _thank you._

And when she asks why, he says, "For being you."

He loves that she looks at things like a puzzle, that even the most broken person can be put back together with a little _effort. _He likes that she gives him smile reserved for only him, her greatest and best puzzle. He doesn't mind it.

DM*HG

He found it ridiculous that she insisted on this: a time period between when they saw each other. She believed that distance was necessary in order to create suspense. He loved that she believed this even after so many failed attempts.

She requested he get a phone, something Muggles use in order to make distance seem like less of burden. They used it often, especially at times when they both couldn't fall asleep in their own beds alone.

It was this night when he expected a call from her any minute.

The call was late.

When they phone rang he grabbed it with excitement, "Hello!"

But it wasn't her. A solemn voice says, "This is Doctor Higginson..."

The rest blurs together until the doctor snaps him out of it.

"There is no family we can find, so love comes next. She's been asking for you."

He gets there as quickly as he can, and faces the facts. This is it, it's supposed to hurt.

He left in his sweatpants and t-shirt with a sweater thrown over. He needs no introduction everyone knows where he wants to go. The receptionist points to the elevator, "Fifth floor in the ICU, Doctor Higginson is waiting for you."

He runs to the doctor and begs to be told what is happening, "Spare me your attempts to soften the blow, tell me what's happening, I need to know."

The doctor does his best at telling the truth: They can't stop the bleeding. That's all he needs to know, he rushes right on in, and looks at her paling skin.

The failing use of her body is just another way to tell the time, and her batteries have run down.

He whispers to her in a hope she can hear, "_My darling Hermione."_

He was holding her hand when she died, he squeezed it with all his might, and even though he tried, he couldn't watch as her chest rose one final time.

He's sorry as he cries - it's supposed to hurt right?


End file.
